Of Drugs and Demons
by revolutionacc
Summary: Monroe and Charlie after he saves her at the bar. Their journey as they return to Willoughby. Charloe
1. Chapter 1

She wakes up dizzy and confused, her head pounding and feeling all too light at the same time. She desperately tries to remember what had happened to leave her feeling this way, but her thoughts are muddled and hazy.

She struggles to sit up, trying to force her shaking arms to cooperate. Something lands near her arm.

"Drink." Monroe says without emotion. She is startled by the realization that she is not alone. Much more than that, she is accompanied by the man she hates most in the world for his responsibility for the death of her dad and Danny. Slowly, she remembers the bar, the men who wanted to hurt her, and the intensity of Monroe's gaze and she lost her battle with consciousness. _Oh god, _Charlie thinks. She is at once overwhelmed by the fear of what almost happened to her and what now is going to happen in the presence of Monroe.

There's no way she can stay here. Ignoring the dizziness, she forces herself to her feet, stumbling as her feet can't cooperate. She feels overwhelming weak and vulnerable, just like how she felt at that hellish bar. She hates the feeling.

"Take it easy, _take it easy_." Monroe looks at her coldly but his words seem to hold honest care. She's confused and her head is too light for her to think about it. Instead, she decides to put all of the hatred and anger she can muster into her harsh gaze. "You've got to flush the drugs out of your system. Drink."

There's no escaping or killing when she can't even sit up right. She reluctantly takes the canteen, briefly suspicious of what it holds. She never wants to accept a drink from another person again. If Monroe notices her hesitation, he doesn't show it as he pokes at the fire.

"How did you find me?" Her voice is carefully steady. She does not want to give him the satisfaction of allowing him to see a single emotion on her face.

"You're not as hard to track as you think."

Charlie is offended. She hates being treated like some helpless child who needs rescuing from Monroe or Miles. Even more, she hates that she did need his rescuing and is grateful he was there. "How long was I out?"

"A full day." He pauses then seems to make a decision. "Don't worry, I was a complete gentleman the whole time."

She is surprised but hides it. She had never even considered that. Charlie chooses to believe that Monroe knew he could never touch Mile's nephew and get away with it, but she wonders if there is anything else to it. He seems too concerned now for it to be a choice of self-preservation.

She believes him but needs to know more, needs to be able to remember what happened to her.

"Those men in the bar…" She can't think of the words. She refuses to put any emotion into them. "They didn't get to…"

Monroe saves her from saying the words. "I didn't let them touch you, Charlotte." His crystal blue eyes lock onto hers, proving his honesty, and she struggles to associate this man with the monster she tried to kill so many times. Charlie is overcome with relief, but refuses to give into the little pricks in her eyes that could all too easily become tears. She does not want to show this monster her gratitude.

She decides to nod once. "Why are you doing this?"

He has those stupid sad puppy eyes on and she almost wants to laugh, quickly forgetting her previous relief. "A show of faith," he replies, keeping his eyes fixed on her. "I need you… to take me to Miles and your mom. I know I could never make it up, but I have to try."

Her hate for him awakens with rage. He does not care about anyone but himself, and he only ever stepped foot into that damn bar to try and prove something to Miles. He is sitting in front of her, asking her to bring him back to _her family_, or the parts of it that he hadn't already killed.

"Wow. Can you make your eyes water like that, just at will?" She puts all of the hate she can into her voice.

"What?" he barely whispers. He has the audacity to be surprised that she will not help this murderous monster. The homicidal maniac thinks she would _ever _bring him to her family.

"Well this whole poor, wounded Monroe thing...it's pathetic." Her scathing words burn him. It only fuels her. "You're a sociopath. You say what you need to get what you want. Behind the mask you're cold, empty…" she wants to drive her message home "and a killer." She doesn't care that she is still dizzy, light-headed, and weak. If she can't attack him with her crossbow, she'll use all she's got. "That's all."

She glances down at the knife she has kept her eye on. She is feeling a little bit stronger, and she can't stand to spend another second in the presence of Monroe. Long ago, she had decided to do everything in her power to hurt him the way he had hurt her family.

She dives for the knife. His boot finds the knife faster than she can wrap her fingers along the hilt. She mourns the loss of this opportunity, afraid of what will happen next. She barely has time to regret anything before he is harshly yanking her up her arm.

He grabs her by the shoulder, his grip bruising and unrelenting. His hands are rough but warm against her cold, bare skin. She has no idea if it is the drugs or their vast different in size, but he is far stronger than her. She has no chance of escaping as she thrashes her shoulders against him. She despises her vulnerability, how easily he can pin her down. Her stomach turns and she thinks she might be sick, but that might be the drugs combined with her sudden movement.

His jaw tightens with his mouth in a horribly condescending sneer. "You're right about one thing. I am good at killing, I'm very good." And looking into his hard eyes, she believes it. All she can do is tilt her head to meet his eyes and hide her fear. "Even better when I'm with your uncle. For the time being at least, we're all on the same team. Those U.S. guys, they're going to be a problem- a big one."

She doesn't care what the threat is, Monroe could never be worth the risk. She would rather die than take him to Willoughby. "What if I tell you to go to hell?" She hopes her voice is intimidating, commanding. That it doesn't crack and that he doesn't notice how much she hates how he is holding her; how vulnerable she is.

His hands tighten around her biceps painfully. His face is contorted with unmasked anger, mere inches away from her own. This is the side of Monroe she is familiar with, the general in charge. Part of her wonders if she is better equipped to deal with him like this, letting her hatred grow unchecked. "What makes you think you've got a choice?"

Those words echo in her head, confirming what she already suspected. They are not friends, nor partners. He is in charge and he will not let her go before he gets to where he wants to be. She wants to fight him. Take both of her hands and shove him off of her, get his repulsive body as far away as possible. But she finds that she lacks the strength and energy. Instead of continuing to fight against him, her body betrays her and she would have fallen without Monroe's hold. She keeps her eyes on Monroe, _let him try something_, but she is now looking at three of him.

He notices. He must notice (and it makes it all that much worse) because he helps her sit down while continuing to hold her shoulders. Her knees fold like paper and she feels worse at the movement. She leans over and pukes into the wet ground beside her.

Charlie hopes he will be disgusted. Hopes that he will leave her alone to recover from the drugs. Unfortunately, he holds her long, wavy hair back with one hand while the other finds its way on her too-warm forehead. He is neither calming nor impatient as he waits for her to finish. Maybe he knows how humiliating it is for her to be forced to accept his help, or maybe he believes this has to be part of the show of faith to Miles and her mom. It doesn't matter, she is revolted either way.

"Charlotte, you need to drink water." His voice has returned to being emotionless.

She knows he's right, and she hates him so much for it.

"Just leave me 'lone." she mumbles. To her surprise, he does, and he backs away carefully to the other side of the fire. She blearly sees him keeping watch over her as her eyes involuntarily slide shut, and all she wants is to be far away from here.


	2. Chapter 2

She wakes up again feeling like her head is more clear, but still not as strong as she would have liked. Not strong enough to fight off Monroe.

But to her surprise and reluctant relief, Monroe is nowhere to be found. His bed roll is spread out, too close to her own, but it is empty. No weapons are lying around, _he isn't dumb,_ and a quick check of her own body determines he had removed all of her own.

She has no idea how long Monroe has been gone. She does know that this may be her only chance to escape. He had told her, "_What makes you think you've got a choice?" _and she will refuse to allow him to force her to do anything. She has to leave as soon as possible.

She struggles to climb out of her bed roll, realizing that Monroe must have moved her there while she was asleep, or rather, unconsciousness, and wrapped her in a blanket. The thought of it alone spurs her into action as she shrugs out of the warm bed. Her bare arms exposed from her tank top are freezing in the chilly air, but she does not have time to look through his stuff to find her jacket. She shivers and fights her way to her feet.

Standing up is far easier than her previous attempts from the night before. Walking, with her swirled vision and persistent dizziness, is still quite the challenge. She does her best to find her balance and walk towards the edge of the forest bordering their set-up. She stumbles, her feet dragging and tangling on knotted roots of old trees. She catches herself against the trunks of trees to keep herself from face planting.

She is not too far away before she finds a river; first hearing the rush of water she follows the sound until she emerges upon a wide stream. She hears Monroe's voice in her head "_Charlotte, you need to drink water". _Judging by the lasting effects of whatever drugs she was slipped and the cotton feeling in her head, she knows he is right. And here, at this river, she knows nobody has touched her water.

Charlie reaches down to the water, cupping it with two hands. She drinks quickly, until her stomach turns queasily. Not wanting a repeat from the previous night, she slows and sits down on the bank. She needs a second to think, to plan, to stop the dizziness, before she takes off again.

Her moment of peace shatters at the click of a gun.

"Damnit, Charlotte!" She swivels to meet the barrel of a gun pointed at her chest and the furious eyes of Sebastian Monroe. _Shit. _The embarrassment of being caught so easily is nearly as horrible as her ruined escape. _How did he find me so quickly?_

"What the hell is wrong with you?" He growls and grabs her arm to yank her up to face him, lowering his gun. This is the first time Monroe has made a mistake. He has left one of her arms free and with all the strength she has in her, Charlie swings out at Monroe. A solid punch lands at his cheekbone, but Monroe is hardly fazed. "Stop it. Charlie, _stop._" She continues to try and fight against him. He merely drops the gun to grab both of her wrists and pin them above her with one hand. He uses the other to shove her against the trunk of the nearest tree, effectively immobilizing her.

"Let go of me!" She hears herself protest.

"Hey! What is your plan, huh?" His face is far too close to her own as he yells. "You were just going to walk away into the forest without a jacket or any food? The idea of being with me is so repulsive, you would rather die of exposure?" Heat creeps up from where his hand is on her chest to spread into her cheeks. She is humiliated and angry.

"Go to hell." She means it. Even though her heart is fluttering and her cheeks are flushed. If she stops hating him, she would have failed her dad and Danny. She would have nothing left at all. It doesn't matter that he's holding her like she might break or that he just called her Charlie for the first time. She just tries to block it all.

He snorts at her, the bastard. "I told you that _you don't have a choice_" he spits out. "We are going to find Miles and your mom, _together, _and I don't care if I'm going to have tie you the whole damn way, do you understand me?"

"Screw you."

"Whatever you want." He smirks humorlessly and reaches into his backpack to grab a short piece of rope. He wraps Charlie's wrists in an experienced knot in front of her, and when he pulls the rope taut it stings against the sensitive skin of her inner arm. "I was going to ask if you were ready to travel, but it seems like you're up for it." His tone is all sarcasm.

Charlie doesn't feel up for it. She just wants to curl into a ball and sleep until her vision stops swimming. She allows him to pull her by her arm to the carriage he had left close, but hidden, from their camp site. She stumbles a few times on the way, her footing still uneven, but he doesn't let her fall. He expertly ties her hands to the bench of the wagon, sitting next to him. No way in hell was he going to trust her in the back alone.

"Are you going to try anything cute if I give you your jacket?"

"No," she replies hollowly. She tries not to recoil as he spread it over her shoulders. If his hands linger for a minute, perhaps even rub warmth into her arms, Charlie doesn't question it.

"You need to drink some fucking water, Charlie. That's why you still feel sick." He hands her the canteen but realizes she can't lift her hands above her lap. Instead of untying the complicated knot, he decides to open it and bring it to her lips. He watches her, looking for any signs of refusal or uncomfortability. Despite her fill at the river, she is incredibly thirsty, reluctantly allowing him to tip back the water into dry mouth. Her throat bobs up and down as she drinks before pulling her head away.

Charlie looks at him afterwards, waiting for him to crack a joke or make her feel embarrassed. He does neither, only grabs his own jacket and readies the horses to leave. He packs the remaining supplies by the fire before stamping it out. Then, he's back, picking up the reigns and looking expectantly at Charlie.

"Head north for about 40 miles."

"You care to tell me where we're heading?"

"Not particularly," she countered.

"Alright then. This is going to be a fun road trip."

As they set off according to Charlie's instruction, she begins to feel her eyes become heavier and harder to keep open. No way is she going to be able to fall asleep tied-up on the uncomfortable wooden bench she is sharing with Monroe. She shifts on the bench restlessly, attempting to stay awake.

Wordlessly, Monroe reaches over to her and wraps his arm around her shivering shoulders. The action is gentle, and he does not even glance away from the horses he's guiding. This is only an offer, she realizes. All she would have to do is pull away, and he would leave her alone. But with the pull of sleep and the warm body positioned next to her, she cannot resist. She sets aside her disgust for just a moment to lean into the man she hates and fall asleep on his comfortable shoulder.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Drop a review and lemme know where the story should go or what you think. I high key forget to update without reminders**

* * *

She wakes up because the wagon has stopped. Monroe gently rubs her arm, almost unconsciously, as he stands up from the bench. She already misses the heat he provided, _and that's all. _

Monroe tends to the horses and unloads the back of the wagon. Charlie merely watches idly, unable to move more than a foot away from the bench. She uses this moment with him distracted to continue to discreetly pull at her bonds. She is entirely unsuccessful besides deepening the angry red marks.

He comes back over to her and uses his pocket knife to cut her away from the wagon. She prepares to awkwardly jump down from the ledge with her hands still tied, but to her surprise he softly places his hands on her hips and delicately sets her on the ground. His face is unreadable but not unkind.

"You promise you're not going to run off for me to save your sorry ass again, and I'll take those off." He nods towards her arms.

She doesn't know if it's the condescending sarcasm in his voice or her never-ending stubbornness, but she feels her annoyance flare.

"Can't promise that." She makes a point to smirk at him.

He sighs and rubs a hand over his face, clearly exhausted. He is also too obstinate to give in.

"Okay, Charlotte, do whatever the hell you want. I'm going to go catch us some food. Can you just sit there, or do I need to tie you to a frickin tree?"

She finds a fallen log to sit on. "I can stay."

She takes the opportunity to unpack their meager supplies. Partly to be helpful, and party out of curiosity she goes through his bag. He had brought all of the weapons with him, because he wasn't stupid when it came to Charlie. She manages to get a small, but sufficient fire going with some dry twigs and branches she finds lying around. She lays out her bedroll and sits on it by the fire. All of the movement aggravated the cuts around her wrist and she is surprisingly cold. She finds herself ever so slightly relieved when she sees Monroe emerge from the nearby woods.

She has no idea if he sees her reaction to him, but he asks "Happy to see me?" He is cracking a slight smile because of the three large fish he has string across his back like trophies. Her stomach rumbles in response, having been empty for several days.

He seems a little impressed with her handiwork with the fire as he skins and prepares the fish to eat. Soon the fresh fish is cooked and in two plates. Monroe passes the larger portion over to the much smaller girl.

She eats quietly, her stomach shrunken after she had skipped so many meals.

"What are you gonna do once we got to Miles and my mom?"

He is surprised by her interruption of the silence. "Help them kill the patriots."

"They won't want your help. What do you think Miles will say is you stroll in to town dragging me behind you at gunpoint?"

He huffs a dry laugh. "Don't be so dramatic. I didn't kidnap you."

Charlie raises an eyebrow to challenge his statement. She lifts her tied hand to emphasize her point.

He rolls his eyes, but then his tone grows far more serious "Fine. Then I'll tell them how I saved your life."

There's a beat of awkwardness. "Thank you for you know..." Charlie whispers. Her eyes look far away, and she lets the words hand in the stiff air.

"You should get some rest." He says gruffly. Despite sleeping most of the day on the wagon, dark bags hang underneath her eyes. Whatever drugs she had been given still seem to linger in her system. For the first time since he met Charlie, she seems small and tired. It's off-putting and Monroe doesn't understand the pangs of concern he feels pulling at his heart.

Charlie nods and climbs into her bed roll. It's uncomfortable, the thin material doing little to provide warmth or cushion against the hard rocks underneath her. Nevertheless, her eyes slip shut quickly and her breathing evens into a deep slumber.

Monroe watches over her carefully, before taking off his own coat and laying it over her shivering form. She seems to curl into a bit. Monroe feels a sudden need to shelter her from the rest of the world. In sleep, Charlie looks far more like the innocent teenage girl she would have grown up to be without the blackout. He wishes she looked this peaceful all the time.

* * *

_Charlie's hand desperately grab at the lock on the door. Oh my god, she knows what is happening, and the door is locked. Her heart sinks and she feels like she can't breathe. _

_The entire bar full of men has now risen from their seats, circling her like vultures. She is both revolted and mortified. She knows what they want to take and she knows that she will fight with all she has to make sure they do not get it. _

_At first, she seems like she might be able to hold her own. The couple of men who try to attack her and slow and dumb, whereas she is fast and experienced. She sees their attack from a mile away and uses her knowledge to easily dodge their advances. She enjoys hearing these monsters drop to the ground with a grunt, but there are so many of them. Too many to fight without a suitable weapon. _

_The drugs have kicked in. Her vision is swimming in waves and she can't force her eyes to focus on the threat. Suddenly, horribly, she realizes she has no chance of fighting these men away. She can't stop them from circling her, pressing her further into the corner. She is helpless, vulnerable, knowing what happens if she succumbs to unconsciousness… _

* * *

"Charlie!" Someone is holding both of her shoulders pinning her down. _Helpless. Vulnerable. _She fights against the strong grip, her heart racing wildly. She can't seem to fight with her arms trapped-

"Hey, hey, _Charlie._" She finally hesitates for a moment, and is flooded with relief at the familiar voice. Her eyes focus and his crystal blues one are staring down at her with a strange intensity. He is practically sitting on top of her, trying to stop her from accidentally hurting herself in the throes of her nightmare. They realize the position they are in simultaneously, and Monroe sheepishly sits back on his heels. It's an odd look for him.

"You were having a nightmare." He offers lamely.

Charlie tries to even out her breathing and embarrassingly realizes tears are gathering in the corner of her eyes. She does her best to blink them away. She tries to sit up, but her previously stinging arms now burn with pain. Her features visibly tighten, spurring Monroe into action. He puts a warm hand on the small of her back, pulling her up right. Her thrashing had rubbed her wrists raw.

Wordlessly, Monroe reaches behind him to grab a knife. He slowly cuts through the rope and unwraps it. She hisses in pain as the last pulls the last of it away, but otherwise her face remains empty.

"Are you okay?" His voice sounds weak even to his own ears.

"I'm fine." _Aw hell, _Monroe thinks as her voice cracks painfully. She tries to rub her wrists to ease the pain, but he grabs her forearm before she has the chance.

"Let me do it." He leaves no room for debate as he opens up a small, depleted first aid kit. His movements are full of care as he wipes away the blood, and his eyes never leave the task at hand. As he cleans her right wrist, he suddenly blanches. Burned into her soft skin is the mark of the Monroe republic. He feels sick as he realizes his name permanently mars her body in an ugly scar.

"When did this happen?" His voice is tight, controlled. He thinks he might throw up.

"It doesn't matter."

"Like hell it doesn't." But he continues.

He is so tender as he wraps the bloodied skin in a bracelet of bandages that Charlie would accuse him of going mushy. She wonders if she is being babied.

"What? Not gonna kiss it to make it all better?" She challenges him with a crack of a smile.

They regain some amount of normalcy. He's so relieved to see her smiling he doesn't even retort. Just shares the smile with her for a moment, his hands lingering longer than they needed to.

Then he gets up and grabs his own bed roll, dragging it next to Charlie's. He is close enough to be ready to help Charlie through another nightmare, but he is still allowing her space.

"Goodnight, Charlie." His voice sounds different.

"Night, Bass."

They both pretend the nickname slipped out in her exhaustion. As they stare up at the stars in silence, Charlie realizes something has shifted between them. She feels comfortable, safer even, with him laying beside her. He is not the monster that she hated for so long, but she has no idea what he is to her now.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Please drop a review and tell me what you want to happen in the story. I'm a little low on ideas. Also, I tweaked the previous chapter a little shortly after I posted it so if you are a little confused maybe re-read chapter 3- sorry!**

Their ride the next day is significantly more pleasant than previous days. Sure, it is spent mostly in silence, but the icy barrier between them has melted.

Charlie is content to sit in the front of the bench and let the sun warm her face. She is far more comfortable with her arms free and is relieved that Monroe doesn't bring it up or make her promise not to run.

For once, Bass breaks the silence first.

"When did you get that scar?" He asks casually, as if it was a common conversation to hold. Somehow that makes her far more uncomfortable.

"I told you it doesn't matter."

His eyes flick over to her wrist, where the scar is concealed by her jacket's arm and the bandages. He seems affected all the same.

"It doesn't matter that my name is burned into your fucking skin? When did it happen, Charlie?"

"I knew what I was getting myself into."

"Why can't you just answer the freaking question?"

Charlie looks over at him, recognizing the guilt clearly etched onto his face. For whatever reason, not knowing the story behind her tattoo makes it so much worse. She has no idea why she feels the need to ease his discomfort, but it bothers her to see him torturing himself.

"There was this boy that looked like Danny. His parents had been killed by the militia and he was kidnapped to be taken to a recruitment center. I followed him there to bust him out."

Monroe seems unsatisfied by her brief description. "And then what?"

"I picked a fight and got sent to the infirmary. Knocked the doc out and took his keys but a lieutenant found me."

Images of Charlie being pinned down to the ground by his own men fill his mind. He sees her skin sizzling under the scorching iron, and can smell the scent of burning flesh. He tries to divert his thoughts, but his heart fills with guilt knowing that Charlie would bare the mark of his sins for eternity. He had already put the girl through far too much.

He clears his throat once. "I'm… um… sorry, for you know…"

"It's not your fault," she dismisses.

"Where was Miles?" Monroe's voice is strained. It's the first time he has purposefully brought up Miles when not talking about their destination.

"What do you mean?"

"When it happened. I can only imagine having my name branded onto your arm is his worst nightmare. So where was he?"

"He waited on shore but when I was late to our meet-up he came to get me. Him and Nora managed to get me and the kid out before things went too far south."

Her heart pangs with sadness at the memory of her uncle's face. When he had opened her cell door to find her protectively cradling the burnt skin, his expression could have killed. It very well may have been his worst nightmare.

Charlie is pulled from her memories as Monroe pulls on the reins, slowing the horses pulling the wagon. He has his head slightly tilted, clearly listening intently to something. Worry blossoms in her heart.

"Bass?" She keeps her voice low but he shushes her nonetheless.

"I think I hear someone." He crouches down low before jumping down to the ground with surprising stealth and grace. His focus is directed towards a nearby patch of thick trees, and he cocks a shotgun as he approaches. Charlie feels naked without a weapon.

Unable to merely sit and watch, she moves to join him. She does not get far before the cold metal of a gun's barrel is roughly shoved into the small of her back. She tries to warn Bass but a hand snakes its way from behind her to cut off her cry.

"Hey, pretty boy. Drop the shotgun."

Bass swivels to face the threat. Fury fills his face and his vision turns red as he finds the man restraining a struggling Charlie.

When Bass doesn't put his weapon down, the attacker asks, "You want me to kill this bitch?" He moves the gun from Charlie's back to her temple and Bass slowly lowers the gun, raising his hands peacefully.

"Ok, let's calm down for a second, alright?" Bass' tone is pacifying but she can read his expression well. He is practically fuming, his hands itching to put a bullet in her captor's head.

Before he can make good on these intentions, however, the guy whistles and a few other burly men appear. _Bandits, _she realizes. Better than bounty hunters, but more unpredictable.

Charlie understands the graveness of the situation. They are outnumbered and with far less weapons. Soon, their meager possessions will be looted and they will be left for dead. At least, Charlie hopes that's all they would do to her.

She locks eyes with Monroe's concerned, stormy blue ones. She focuses on his, trying to communicate a plan. The men, distracted as they begin to rifle through the wagon, don't notice as Monroe barely moves his lips, counting one, two, _three. _

Charlie drives her head back as hard as she can, snapping her attacker's nose instantly.

"You're going to regret that, you little-"

He curses and loosens his hold enough for her to turn around and kick him in the groin. Hard. His hands automatically fly to his crotch, and blood flows freely from his face. His mouth forms a comical O and the gun is discarded to the ground.

She snatches it up but realizes it is only a convincing replica of one. These fakes are not uncommon in this powerless world; bullets are expensive and hard to come by. God, what she would give for a frickin' weapon.

Shots fire behind the wagon. She runs to try and help Bass, but she is confident he is a far better fighter than these ameteur bandits. As she arrives, Bass is slitting the throat of the third guy with a blade that he produced from heaven's know where. His movements are precise and strategic, highlighting his superior fighting abilities.

Unfortunately, Bass is completely oblivious to the last bandit creeping up from the left. Before he has the chance to try anything with the wicked knife he's holding, Charlie leaps to grab at his arm. The bandit swings out aggressively, the knife plunging into her thigh.

With a grunt, Charlie drops to the ground, the pain immediate. Quicker than Charlie could have possibly imagined, Bass has turned and stabbed the man in the heart ruthlessly. Then he is there, hands fluttering over her body hesitantly.

"Charlie, what happened? Where does it hurt?"

Charlie looks up at him, black dots swimming in her eyes. Her leg burns in pain like there's a hot poker pressed against it, and her slender fingers try to wrap around the hilt of the knife still embedded in her leg.

"My leg-" she tries to tell Bass. She is cut off by a cry of pain that escapes her mouth as he puts his hand over the wound.

"Sorry, sorry, Charlie, oh my God, I'm so sorry Charlie-" He is so much more panicked than Charlie had ever seen him. He is clutching onto her leg, trying to stop the bleeding and altogether failing. He runs a hand through his curly blond hair, smearing blood everywhere. He looks crazed. "Charlie, please stay with me, _Charlie…"_

She does her best to keep her eyes open, focusing on his concerned face hanging over her own, but once he slips an arm underneath her back and the bend of her knees to pull her up, the pain in her leg abruptly spikes. She hears an anguished whimper escape her and more apologies and pleas tumble out of Bass' mouth. She fists her hands in his thin under shirt, breathing in the ridiculously-comforting scent of cedar and smoke, and allows him to carry her away.


	5. Chapter 5

Bass carries her away. His strong arms support her weight easily, and Charlie feels oddly safe curled against his lean body. It's like letting out a breath that she had been holding for far too long.

"Charlie, it's going to be okay." She hears the deep rumble of his voice with her ear pressed against his chest. She chooses to believe him, although the incredible pain burning through her leg betrayed her true state. Her entire leg is slick with sticky blood and black spots dance in front of her vision. She is dizzy from the blood loss.

"Hey, Basss," she mumbles through her dry mouth. She sounds drunk.

"Yes, Charlie?"

"I think- think m' gonna need some that back." Her words slip together pathetically, one word blending into the next.

"Some of what back?"

"M' blood. Need it back-" she smacks her lips together "it's 'portant."

Monroe doesn't answer. In any other situation, Bass would find drunk Charlie funny as hell. But now he just feels full of concern. Seeing Charlie lying in a small pool of blood was an image that he knows will permanently be burned into his mind. She had looked so small and broken, Bass had no way of knowing how serious the wound was. Even now, he struggles to evaluate it with all the blood and he knows they need to stop and take care of it properly

"Bass." She's trying out his new name on her lips. "Like that you're Bass now. Didn' like Monroe."

Bass barely smiles and sets her down on the ground.

"Gotta take a look at your thigh."

He cuts away the fabric around the wound. It doesn't seem deep, or to hit anything vital, but it wasn't clotting and fresh blood continued to leak out of her. Charlie's right, she needs to stop losing blood or she will need a transfusion. Monroe wouldn't know the slightest thing about how to go about a transfusion with low medical supplies and even if he did, he has no idea what blood type Charlie is.

With a horrible, sinking feeling Bass realizes what he will have to do. He moves away from her with great haste to begin to gather some kindling and foliage.

"Charlie, I need to stop the bleeding." His voice is calm and reassuring, despite his slightly panicked actions. He gets a fire going with some matches he had in his back pocket.

"Mhmmmm, need m'blood back." Charlie agrees with her eyes closed.

"I'm gonna cauterize the wound, ok? It's going to hurt but that's the best way to stop the bleeding. You need your blood inside your body."

Charlie merely blinks up at him, her eyes glazed and hazy. He douses a knife in some moonshine he had saved for a special occasion in his flask, before placing it in the center of the growing fire.

Bass does not want to hurt Charlie, even if it is to save her life. To worsen the guilt, Bass knows Charlie was only stabbed in her attempts to save his life. Somehow, in the midst of the fight with those bandits, she had recognized his hidden blind spot at which the man was approaching. Bass was impressed by her ability to fight, not that he would ever tell her that.

"Okay, Charlie, you ready?" The knife glows an awful red in the center of the fire. Charlie is hardly awake, but she manages to nod her approval. He passes her a piece of gauze to bite down on from the medical kit.

He climbs on top of her, much like he did while she was struggling against unseen forces in her nightmare a few days ago. It feels far less awkward this time around, but Bass chalks it up to the direness of the situation.

He uses one strong hand to brace Charlie's calf and puts his knee on her upper thigh. Really he needs help to properly do this- hell, the girl needs surgery and anesthesia and clean medical tools not doused in questionable moonshine that had been stagnant in Bass' flask for several weeks. But Bass can provide none of that, so he does his best to ignore the anxiousness in his chest or his shaking hands.

"Ok, I'm gonna count to three. Try not to move around too much." Charlie looks up at him, her eyes filled with trust. He tears his eyes away before he loses his nerve. "One, two-"

And then he's pressing the hot knife against Charlie bare skin. It's awful- my god, it's fucking horrible to see her writher on the ground trying to escape the pain Bass is inflicting. Her whole body is tense, like a tightly wound coil, but she does not buck against him or thrash. She does not allow herself to scream.

"I'm sorry- so sorry, just a minute more and then-" the words fall out of Bass' mouth, so outside of his comfort zone and feeling out of character. Her hand flails about for a second before latching onto the fold of Monroe's jeans, apparently what she was looking for. Monroe's heart twists painfully at the sight of it. "Ok, hang on." He lifts the blade to see if the bleeding has stopped. "It looks good." He keeps his voice steady even if the smell of burnt flesh is in the air and he sort of feel nauseous.

He moves the knife away, and slowly relaxes against the ground. She pants for a minute, spitting the gauze out of her mouth. A shine of sweat covers her fast and her eyes are still worryingly glazed. At least the bleeding has finally stopped.

"Screw you," she whispers against a scratchy throat but her eyes look soft. She shivers, causing lines of pain to appear near her eyes. He can tell she is trying to hide her pain. "'m cold."

_Shit. _Monroe worries she might go into shock.

Wordlessly, he walks over to where she is laying on the ground and lies down next to her. He pulls a blanket over them and wraps his arm around her soft shoulders. The reassurance of being able to hold her, after worrying so much in the past few hours, is an incredible relief. Charlie leans into his touch, loosely curled around his warm body.

"Hey, Bass?" she mumbles, her voice still rough.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks f'r evrything."

Monroe nods once and Charlie drifts off to sleep, her head tucked onto his shoulder and his arm protectively wrapped around her body. They find deep comfort and rest, and once again they realize something has shifted between them.

**AN: The end I guess? Pls review if you want me to continue or have any ideas for future updates. Or for another story. I need ideas. Thanks for reading! **


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